


Sleep is for the Dead

by 00N7



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M, One-Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-26 14:27:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9904361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/00N7/pseuds/00N7
Summary: Commander Shepard is tired. Very tired. And it is a struggle to keep going. Set mid ME3.





	

The longest days were always the hardest to remember.

They manifested in the mind as bright flashes. Saturated images. Loud noises. Muffled noises. A continuous mash of barked orders, screaming, blood, gunfire and pain. 

Pain...pain...pain…

Fatigue set in long ago. She pushed on. Ignored it. Kept it on the back burner. She didn’t have time to be tired. She would sleep when she was dead. She would sleep when she was-

Feet found purchase on the unsteady ground.

_ Ship. _

Feet found purchase on the unsteady ship. The airlock slammed shut. A gasp for air, purified by half a dozen filters just to make it breathable. It was never as crisp and clean as the open sky, but it kept her alive.

Fatigue crept to the front of her mind, mixing in with what little she could decipher of the clutter in her head. She wavered, fell back. A loud thud of metal on metal as she collided against the airlock door. A hand flung out, smacking into the wall as fingers clawed to keep hold.

There was red, and a little green, smeared across the shining metal.

“Commander?”

She looked up. An officer at the doorway, face neutral yet with a glint of worry in his eyes. A couple others gathered behind him. She waved them off, “I am fine.”

Once steadied on her feet, she pushed through them without another word.

There was a strain in her muscles as she walked the length of the ship. Screaming at her to stop. Sit down. Lay down. Anything. Just  _ stop! _

Stop, stop, sto-

No. She would sleep when she was-

A fist slammed into the wall. A sudden thrust forward as her legs gave way and she fought to stay standing. Traynor jumped at her station, shooting a glance over her shoulder. She moved hesitantly forward, to help. But the Commander was gone, as soon as the lift doors opened.

She reached the top floor in seconds, and without the ever watchful gaze of a dozen crew, she limped forward. Barely able to keep upright. Barely able to keep eyes open. Barely able.

She opened the door to her cabin, the sudden silence pushing in from all sides. It was almost as bad as the din of battle.

Almost.

Shaking hands reached up as her feet dragged her forward one clumsy step at a time. Down one step, her fingers reached the latch, she swayed precariously. Down another step, and the helmet hissed as it depressurized. Final step down, and she lifted the helmet off.

_ Thud. _

It hit the floor, ringing loudly. Bouncing off every wall, and nook, and corner until the ringing burrowed into her head. The echo had only lasted a couple seconds, yet it still reverberated harshly in her head.

Another noise to add to the others tumbling about in her memories. Just another noise to add to the pile.

Her body made it to the couch. She collapsed, armor and all. She knew she would need to remove it but she was just so…

...she would sleep when she was-

Exhaustion took its hold and she slumped over. Eyes unfocused, staring blankly ahead. There was a smear of blue up the length of the arm her head rested against. Her eyes focused. The smear sharpened.

Blood.

“...shit.”

It streaked across the fabric of the couch where her armor had come in contact. Blending into obscurity against the black, yet contrasting sharply against the white stripe. Her eyes unfocused. She still saw the blood lit up by the soft glow of the fish tank.

Bright.

Glistening.

Blue.

Turian blood.

She didn’t remember killing a Turian on the battlefield. Plenty of humans died. One drell casualty. No turians were present. 

Except for Garrus.

Where was he? She remembered dropping into a hot zone, with him on her right and with Vega on her left. They fought through waves, until they waded knees deep through blood, bodies, and spent thermal clips.

A new onslaught came in droves, just when they thought it was safe. Just when they…

And she found herself split from the group, fighting for her life. Fighting to get to safety. Fighting to get to the ship. Fighting alone. Fighting  _ alone _ .

A sudden gasp for air as lightning struck her bones, jolting her into action. She struggled to her feet, but her knees were weak. Her legs were wobbly. Her vision grew dark.

“EDI…!”

“Yes, Comman-”

Her knees hit first, crashing metal rung against the walls. She collapsed to the floor, that same crashing metal echoed through the room. Then silence. A groan escaped her, the last of her energy being used to fight unconsciousness. She rolled onto her back, struggling to breathe. Struggling to stay awake. Struggling.

She would sleep when she was dead.

Her eyes closed.

(And somewhere in the lower levels of the ship, EDI’s voice piped up through a speaker, “Garrus. I advise you check in on the Commander. I have noticed a significant drop in heart rate from her armor’s vitals monitor and you are the only crew member with access to her quarters.”

But she didn’t even need to finish. He had dropped his weapons and ran out the door.)

It had only been a few minutes, ticking on for eternity. The soft hum of the ship in her head, the gentle rumble of the ship against her back. It soothed her aching body, if only for the moment.

The unexpected peace was soon shattered. She heard the thudding of hurried footsteps, and the door to her cabin opened.

“Gwen!”

“Hey, Gar…” she cracked a smile. A very tired, worn smile. Half a smile. A broken smile. A smile that wasn’t all there, “...you’re okay.”

“We just made it back,” he murmured, pulling her to her feet, voice laced with worry and fear. She felt him tremble against her as he helped her to the couch, “What happened? Are you okay?”

“...tired. I’m tired,” she said softly.

“There’s so much blood,” and there was that worry again. The worry and the fear. She dropped her head against him, “...not mine.”

“Are you…?” she began to ask, raising her arm towards the light. The fresh blue blood shimmered against the black armor.

“Not mine, either,” he said, cutting her off, “You need to get out of that.”

“Too tired,” she said, “...I am just too goddamn tired.”

Without a word spoken, he worked on the latches that held her beaten, bloody, cracked armor in place. And piece by piece it fell with a low thud to the floor.

The ringing had stopped.

“Let us get you into bed,” he said, but she barely heard it. He pulled her into his arms and walked across the room.

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” she muttered against his chest.

“You already were.”

\---

The longest days were always the hardest to remember.

They were also the hardest to forget.

No matter how fuzzy the image, or how broken the memory, the pain was still there. Ever present. Burned into the bones and muscles and heart and soul. It would always be there. Film that didn’t quite develop. A shadow, or a ghost.

The pain would always be there.

Omnipresent.

“Commander, are you feeling alright?” the question hung in the air, unavoidable. She looked towards EDI as the shuttle settled into the cargo bay.

“Fine. I’m fine,” she said, with a sliver of a smile.

The door opened, and she jumped down. EDI stood dangerously close to the edge, perfectly straight and still. She watched the Commander’s retreating back.

“Is she alright?” she asked, cocking her head towards Garrus.

“Are any of us?”

He jumped down next, leaving the AI to ponder the answer. But before he could reach the lift, Gwen was already gone. Already headed upwards to her cabin, to the silence, to the next dream or nightmare or sleepless night.

(And in the cockpit, EDI asked of Joker the same. His answer was eerily similar.

“Jeff, do you think the Commander is alright?”

“About as good as any of us, I imagine.”

She found herself dedicating more processing power to interpreting the words.)

Gwen stepped out as the doors opened, and felt the heaviness of battle upon her shoulders. Every death upon her hands and every drop of blood that splattered her armor. Her shoulders slumped, and she rested against the elevator door

...she was tired of it all.

She would sleep when she was dead.

She forced her feet into motion, dragging along the grated floor. As soon as her door slid open she stepped in, and dropped all her guns to the floor. She made a sharp turn, shoulder ramming against the side of the doorway as she walked into the bathroom. The throbbing pain from the slam didn’t even register. Just another bruise, another ache, another pain.

Her hands fumbled for the shower knob, and a sudden blast of hot water hit her armor. Streams of blood and water rolled down the dark carbon fiber, splashing against the light steel floor, speckling it with pinks and reds, blues and greens.

She rested an arm upon the wall, and let her head fall forward. Her eyes closed. She listened to the waterfalls wash away her deeds. The good deeds. The bad deeds. Every damn one of them.

“Need a hand?”

Gwen let out a short laugh. She hadn’t heard him enter, but she wasn’t the least bit surprised. She was probably too tired to even be surprised.

She lifted her head to look at him, standing in the doorway. He had already peeled away every sign of battle from his body, unlike her. No signs. No bruises or blood or…

“I was trying to wash it off. I was trying to keep…”

_ ‘...from making a mess.’ _

Like last time. But there was blood in the shuttle. Blood in the elevator. Blood on the wall just outside the bathroom. Blood everywhere. There was no avoiding blood in war. She sighed.

“...yeah. I could use a hand.”

He closed the distance in an instant, working the latches on her helmet. It removed with ease, and the blast of hot water to her skin shocked pink into her pale cheeks. He leaned forward, placing a gentle kiss upon her head.

She leaned into him, pushing herself just slightly up on her toes, and returned the kiss upon his mandible. Longer, this time. With every ounce of feeling and energy she could muster in that moment. She sighed, content for the first time in weeks.

“Aren’t you tired, love?”

“...I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” she whispered, “Now help me rid of this armor.”

“Yes, Commander.”


End file.
